A Night Visitor

In the last few months H. and I have moved from our long time home in Brackley, Northamptonshire to Romsey, Hampshire to be nearer to my work place.


For those not familiar with Romsey I should say a few words about the town. It is a very nice (pronounced naice) little middle class town about 10 miles from Southampton. A twee town. Twee is a peculiarly English word which is hard to define precisely. It is almost kitsch but not quite. The covers that your grandmother places on arms and backs of chairs are twee. Paper doilies are twee. Lace covers to keep flies out of milk jugs and incense burners and scented candles are twee. Romsey could specialize in shops that sell solely tweeware. (I just invented that word and I am thinking of taking out a patent.) You know, the sort of shop that sells sets of thimbles with pictures on each one or life like collector dolls that 'are well worth an investment'. OK I think you get the picture of what Romsey is like now so to get back to the story.

H. and I were very surprised one Sunday afternoon when, going out for a walk, we disturbed a three burglars trying to steal garden machinery from our neighbours shed. They ran off empty-handed but a few days later the same thing happened again.


Our neighbours told us not to worry as it was probably just didicoys. (Didicoy is another peculiarly English word. It is a perjorative term refering to travelling people. For example in the expression "skinny as a didicoy's dog.") It had happened sometime last year when the didicoys had stolen various power tools belonging arbiculturalists working in the garden. Romsey doesn't have gardeners it has arbiculturalists and landscapers. Anyway I am getting distracted from the story again.

All this talk of burglars must have got my mind working overtime. On Saturday night I was very restless and I awoke when I thought I heard noises downstairs. As I opened my eyes I saw the dark outline of a figure standing by the bedroom door. Immeditaley I thought it was H. returning from the bathroom and so I asked 'Is that you?'.



The figure was silent and then H., who was still lying next to me, said 'No'.


Immediately I sprang from the bed and launched myself at the intruder, arms flailing in an attempt to get a knockout blow. Let me tell you that I taught that dressing gown hanging on the back of the door a lesson it will never forget. I beat it black and blue.


It took over an hour before my heartbeat returned to normal and I was able to go back to sleep. The dressing gown recovered a lot quicker and is none the worse for the experience.